The Betrayed
by valiasedai
Summary: When Anora betrays Shara Amell in Howe's estate, the Warden finds herself in a hellish world of torture and abuse. Will she live to take revenge? Trigger Warnings! Dub-con, attempted rape, torture
1. The Betrayed

"Go! Take that bloody bitch and _run_!" Shara's face was full of rage and her orders were hissed through gritted teeth. Zevran hesitated a moment, wanting to _stay_, but the Warden shoved him towards the door. "I said _go!_" She whirled to face more than a dozen men, and Zevran felt the creeping shame of cowardice tug at his gut.

Grinding his teeth in anger, Zev grabbed Anora's arm and pulled her towards the door, Shara's cry of rage echoing in his ears. The queen struggled to keep up, immediately protesting "rough treatment." Jerking her to him, Zev stared into those defiant blue eyes and kept his voice low. "Your majesty, the Warden may very well _die_ because you would not support her just then, so I suggest you move those dainty feet quickly and keep that pretty mouth closed." Anora blinked at him, caught between being offended and being shocked, but Zevran just jerked her into motion again, Sten and Leliana following closely behind.

The faint sound of firing crossbows hit his ears, and he shuddered.

* * *

They were breaking her, bit by bit, lash by lash, and she had nothing she could say that would stop them. Wood ground on wood and the ropes around her wrists and ankles pulled a little harder than they had before. "Please, _please_, I don't know anything!"

She was sobbing in earnest now, each breath torturous against the restraints. She reached for her magic as she had before, struggling to reach the Fade, but the braces on her arms stopped it. She had known of such things, used on blood mages or mages convicted of other crimes, a way to prevent them from touching their greatest power. Shara was no exception. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and a grimy face leered at her. "Well, it looks like we're finally gettin' somewhere with the little bitch." He spat on her forehead and she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to pretend she was somewhere else.

It was useless, just as useless as her urging everyone else to run while she faced over a dozen men and Ser Cauthrien's blade. Shara had heard the guards say that four had died, with another three badly injured, and that had been her only cause to smile that day. At least Ser Cauthrien hadn't come through unscathed, the great beast of a woman with a greatsword more massive than her own. Shara could remember the way it had cut into her, finding bone. They'd patched her up just enough to keep her alive, just enough to let her know what they were doing to her. Compared to the pain of the rack, the deep cut on her thigh was nothing but a distant throb.

The tension in her arms suddenly subsided and her arms were rudely thrust back at her sides. The scream she let out was so shrill it hurt even her ears – the incessant pull had been grueling, but the sudden movement was pure agony. Her legs soon followed and she flirted with unconsciousness as one of the larger guards scooped her up. She didn't have the strength to lift her head to see where she was being taken. The man was nearly as big as Sten, and there was a smug smile on his face. Dread welled in her stomach, mingling with fear and once again the tears streamed down her cheeks.

The sudden appearance of a doorway only worsened her fear and she was promptly dropped on a wooden table. Her back was a mess of deep cuts from the lash, but hours on the rack had numbed those wounds as well. She was torn between stretching her muscles and keeping them still, finally settling on an attempt to sit up, to try and see where she was, what was going on.

The door slammed and she jumped. Her heart began to race when she heard another sound, the low metallic click of a locking door. The big man walked back toward her then, simply standing and staring at her, looking everywhere but her face. Her skin rippled with gooseflesh, not from the cold air, but from his lascivious gaze. She was stark naked – she had not even been allowed the dignity of small clothes outside of the cell they kept her in when even _they_ needed a rest.

The man's hands went to the ties and buckles that held his breastplate in place and he kept his eyes trained on the rise and fall of her chest as he undid them. "They say you're in with the Orlesians." He smiled and flicked his eyes to her face. "And that you killed the king." The buckles were undone now, and he casually removed the piece of armor in a well-practiced movement. His began working at the armor at his legs, taking off just the bits on his upper thighs. "Personally, I don't care what you did." Shara felt a cold chill run down her spine and she began to shake her head. His hands were on his trousers now, and he untied them as he moved towards her. "I don't even care if you're innocent." He pushed his trousers and smallclothes down in one swift movement, and moved a hand between his legs. "It doesn't matter a whit because you can't do a thing to stop me."

Shara realized she was trembling now, and she couldn't help flinching when his free hand gripped her ankle. He grinned as he pulled her towards him, the rough wood of the table opening the wounds on her back anew. Sobbing quietly, she shook her head again and managed a hoarse whisper. "No."

He laughed then, fixing her with a confident smile. "Oh yes. Very much yes." He reached for her again.

Struggling to force herself to do this, to at least _try_ Shara reached out a hand, her abused shoulder painfully stiff. "Th-that's not what I meant."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. "Speak, then. Most men like it when girls like you fight, but I think participation is a nice change of pace." His hand alighted on her ankle again, the grip firm.

Arms trembling, _screaming_ in protest, she pushed herself up, unable to help the grimace that twisted her features. Shara didn't bother with sultry looks or words. She knew what he wanted to hear. "I can do more than that." Clearing her throat, she tried to force her voice louder, the effort straining her throat. "Mages can give pleasure in ways you've never even dreamed of." It wasn't entirely true – people had excellent imaginations, after all – but she just needed him to_ believe_ her. "Mages know where every little bundle of nerves is, they can touch every last one of them at once with magic, and it will make you forget any lover you've had before. And I'm the best." Her back itched where blood trickled over it, slow and lazy, seeping from the freshly-opened cuts.

The man was considering her offer, boring into her with green eyes that held little emotion. She held her breath, waiting, hoping, he would be too concerned with his pleasure to remember the power she wielded. And if she was lucky, he'd be stupid enough to forget there was a _very_ good reason the Chantry feared mages who became too powerful. "Oh, I'll consider letting you give me a show with those magic fingers of yours, but first you have to prove you want me." His lips curved in a smile again and took a few steps away from the table, gesturing towards his erection. "So prove it."

Swallowing hard, Shara nodded, promising herself she'd get the damn cuffs off, promising herself she'd make the man suffer. Crawling off the table, she fell to her knees, barely able to keep herself upright as the pain in her thigh deepened. A glance down showed the bandage was red, and she suppressed a whimper of concern. Pain tested her resolve, but the need to escape, to return injury for injury drove her. It had been this man who had wielded the whip so mercilessly and she _would_ see him die. Taking the man in her mouth she closed her eyes and forced her mind to more pleasant thoughts.

* * *

_A fingertip traced down her spine, the slightest current of magic trailing in its wake until Shara almost couldn't stand it. She gasped as Niall let out a small burst of power. Shara let her head fall back in ecstasy as every current saturated her pleasure centers and her nerves tingled with sensation. _

_ Panting hard, Shara turned to her lover and watched the slow grin form on his face. "You always cheat, Niall."_

_ With a soft laugh, he shook his head. "As if you don't do the same. Do you want me to stop?" There was a knowing look in his eye, and she could only hold his gaze a few moments before laughing herself._

_ "No." Throwing her arms around him, Shara took his mouth with hers, letting her own magic surge into him until she drew her name from his lips._

_

* * *

_

Rough hands pulled her away and Shara blinked in surprise. She could feel the tremble in the man's arms, hear his barely-controlled breath. She scrambled to her feet awkwardly, her injured leg close to buckling, and she let her eyes rise as far as the man's chin. He tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. "If I think you're doing anything to hurt me, I'll break your neck, do you understand?"

Shara nodded, trying to hide her relief. There were plenty of tricks she could work to lull him into a sense of safety. The hands left her hair and slid down her arms, resting on the metal bracers that covered her from wrist to elbow. Two clicks and they were off, falling to the stone floor with a clatter. Lifting a hand to the man's face, Shara let magic seep into him. He closed his eyes and let out a slight breath, his entire body relaxing. She smiled as she caressed his mind with magic, stroking centers of pleasure while she began to slip into the cracks of consciousness and sleep. A twisted smirk began to form on the man's face and she let the magic press a little harder into his mind, bringing him close to fulfillment, testing his resolve as she did. The moment he relaxed his mind she withdrew the magic that gave him pleasure and unleashed her trap. A carefully laid web of magic stunned him and she stumbled around the table, giving herself enough distance to be safe. He began to regain his wits just as she cast another web, this one on his entire form, paralyzing him in a prison of magic. He was gripped in pain, the sound of his screaming sweet on her ears and she watched for several moments as he twitched and groaned.

As she felt the spell reach its crux, she cast one more, wrapping the man in an impenetrable barrier. The two spells fought, crushing the man caught between them. When the spells finally imploded the man was nothing but a bloody mess. Shara slumped to the floor in exhaustion, pain coursing through her. _It is enough_. With any luck the others wouldn't check in for another hour or more. A quick look under the bandage on her leg revealed the cut was too deep for her basic ability to heal, and from the smell it had begun to fester. Replacing the tattered cloth, Shara realized she would need to rest before she would have the strength to heal the injury enough to escape. When the guards realized her absence and came to begin their torture anew, she would be ready.

* * *

Zevran was covered in blood, frantically searching for the one woman in Ferelden worth saving. Wynne had avoided most of the gore, healing him from a distance or sending spells to harm anyone that gave Zev too much trouble. It was still difficult, exhausting, and now he had another concern. There was only one prisoner they'd found alive, and on questioning he'd claimed to have not seen Shara for almost a day. Cursing himself for letting the others talk him into waiting just a little longer to formulate a more thorough plan, Zev paced, swearing quietly in his native tongue. Nothing about the dungeon gave him hope. There were other prisoners, all of them tortured to death, lying in bloody heaps on tables or on the floor. Even the Crows hadn't been so careless; cleaning up the dead was as much a part of the job as gaining the information needed before the captive died.

Wynne picked her way around the dead bodies, lifting her robes from the filth. "She's not here, Zevran. Maybe if we look in-"

Turning on his heel, Zev threw up his arms. "I know that, we need to look elsewhere, I just..." He trailed off, trying to reign in his temper. He was not prone to outbursts, but the encounter with Taliesen had put him on edge. He itched to leave, to get _away_ from those dark eyes and that smile that made his heart race, but he couldn't abandon her now. The Blight was not yet over, and even then, Zevran knew he was held by more than his word. The longer he shared her bad, the easier it was to forgive himself for Rinna's death. Shara had a hold on his emotions he couldn't shake – she was desire and trust and _safety_. It was dangerous and went against all of his training as a Crow, but as much as he fought it he couldn't get her out of his head.

A faint scratching sound caught his ear, and Zevran turned his head, trying to find the direction. He moved quietly, ignoring Wynne's wide-eyed stares at his sudden change in demeanor. When he reached the top of the stairs near the cells, he heard it again, more clearly this time. It was coming from a door he had been unable to open. Sliding his daggers out of their sheaths, he tensed as a loud click announced the turn of a lock. The door opened ever so slightly, and Zev crouched, ready to attack.

The door opened wider and Shara stumbled out, suddenly bright with the sickly blue-green of a particularly nasty spell turned living things into a bloody spray. She was naked, haggard, and looked as weak as a day-old puppy, but he'd never felt so relieved in his life. When her eyes met his there was a sudden flash of recognition before she collapsed to the floor, the magic disappearing completely, and she grimaced as she held a bloody leg. "I thought I heard something..."

Kneeling by her side, Zev tried to smile. "I apologize, my...Warden, I'm afraid we did not leave any for you to kill." Shara met his gaze and he felt his heart twist. They'd broken her.

It was then Wynne rushed in, pushing Zev out of the way. Her hands were immediately surrounded by a blue glow and she flicked a wrist at him. "Cut off this bandage, I need to see it if we expect her to make it all the way back to the Arl's estate." He obliged, gently sliding the dagger between the cloth and Shara's skin, working it slowly as he sliced through the layers of bandages. When Wynne pried off the bandage with a protesting cry from the Warden, Zev lifted a hand to his nose. Whoever had wrapped her up hadn't used anything clean, and the wound was festering badly, the stench sickly sweet. Frowning, he knew a wound so fresh shouldn't smell so bad unless it had been _purposely_ fouled. It was deep, but not wide, the only real fortune. Wynne set to work, face grim, and Zev could only watch in fascination as she knit the layers of muscle back together, working bit by bit until even the skin was smooth and whole.

The concerned look on her face didn't disappear, and she gently coaxed Shara to her stomach. A startling sense of familiarity hit Zev as he saw Shara's back. Skin that had once been smooth was torn, flesh hanging off in bits and pieces, dirt and grit filling the cuts. Wynne shook her head, cursing Loghain loudly, as she placed her hands on the Warden's shoulders.

When the Healer sat back, Zev eyed her warily, waiting for her to do more. Shara's back was still a mess and hardly anything had been healed. The older mage caught his look and shook her head. "I need to clean this before I can heal it properly, or it will fester and have to be cut and healed anew."

Avoiding the urge to grind his teeth, Zevran only nodded. As he helped Shara to her feet, he could see only one emotion behind the pain: revenge.


	2. The Vengeful

Ser Cauthrien eyed the other woman, clad in dragon bone, armed with a greatsword that was _almost_ as massive as her own. Maric's bastard was at her side, along with the elf and the qunari. They would, all of them, defile the Landsmeet. "Stand down, Warden. Teryn Loghain is a great man. You will _not_ be allowed in the chamber unless you first come through me."

A sardonic grin formed on the mage's otherwise pretty face, black eyes glittering. "Oh Cauthrien, you've no _idea_ how much I've looked forward to killing you." The air suddenly hummed and Cauthrien felt as dazed as if she'd been dashed against a wall. It made her muscles tremble and her vision blur until she could hardly distinguish one form from the other. Still, she fought; for Loghain, for honor, for her _life_.

Cauthrien was confident at first, moving through the motions, certain the mage would fall. But as the battle raged and the men around her began to die, the Warden never stopped harrying Cauthrien, mercilessly attacking her flank as the qunari kept her own blade occupied. The mage seemed to grow stronger each time a man fell, and by the time all of her guards were dead, Cauthrien was nearing the limit of her endurance.

Pain shot through her leg as an arrow went clean through her ankle and she stumbled, her swing missing the mage by several inches. It was the opening the Warden had been waiting for, and Cauthrien watched the blade rise above the woman's head before it began to fall. The blood of her men coated the length of it, and she felt a drop before the steel hit true. Cauthrien had _failed_.

* * *

Loghain raised his shield again, the blow from Cauthrien's greatsword hitting it with such force that something in his shoulder gave way. The mage was covered in blood, and it was increasingly obvious he had sorely underestimated her. He'd seen the woman wearing armor, but assumed it only a ruse – mages weren't warriors. The gash below his right pauldron was real, though, and he knew the Warden was toying with him, wearing him down with magic and blade. He had stumbled once already and instead of laying the killing blow, she had merely hurled a spell at him that had lifted him on his toes as pain coursed along ever nerve. He was no longer a young man, and the years of relative peace had put him sorely out of practice. Against the mage woman who had fought across Ferelden for more than a year, he was beginning to feel like a squire fresh out of training.

Raising his shield as best he could against another blow, Loghain struggled to parry back. The Warden simply turned the blade towards his longsword, sliding her blade down its length until the tip hit the hilt with a jolt. His body betrayed his training, and his hand relaxed its grip on his sword, the blade that had served him so long clattering to the ground.

As the mage pulled off her helmet, face triumphant, Loghain knew his sentence. _Death_.

* * *

"Riordan, are you _mad?_ This man killed our brothers, he betrayed the king! He must _die_!" Alistair's expression was pure outrage, and Shara was certain hers matched, if for different reasons.

As the near-Templar wheeled to face her, she set her shoulders and let out a low growl. Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but Shara cut him off with a sharp gesture. "If you even _entertain_ the idea I might allow Loghain to live after all he's done, you'd better be willing to face me."

Brown eyes widened in momentary shock, but he regained his composure quickly, giving her a short nod. "Thank you... sister."

"Loghain dies now." Anora sobbed once, running to her father, but Loghain pushed the queen away, voice quiet and resigned.

Shara couldn't bring herself to admire the man, not when he'd abandoned them at Ostagar and repeatedly tried to have them killed. Not when the marks of his torture were permanently carved into her flesh and nightmares of Fort Drakon tore screams from her sleep. _Never_ when his betrayal of Uldred had led to Niall's death. He would pay for his crimes. She only regretted he couldn't die more than once.

"Warden, who will lay the final blow?" Eamon's voice brought her back to the present, pulling her away from the memory of Niall's face as he'd said his final goodbye. "_I love you, Shara. Make me proud_." She _would_. Loghain would die and she would end the Blight. _For him_.

Blinking back tears, Shara set her jaw and squared her shoulders, trying to suppress the emotions welling inside her. "I will." Her voice was low and quiet, the anticipation mounting. "Loghain, on your knees." He complied, lifting his face to hers. He looked tired and old, but he remained calm as he faced his fate.

As she placed her blade flat against his shoulder he didn't flinch, and that she _could_ admire. He faced his death as an honorable man, and while his courage would not meet the demands of vengeance, it _would_ make a clean execution easier.

Swinging the sword with all her might, Shara couldn't help the relief that washed through her. As the blade cleanly severed Loghain's head from his body, his blood joined Cauthrien's on her face and armor. Loghain was dead.

There were a few moments of shocked silence in the Great Hall, no one able to say a word, and even Anora had ceased her quiet crying. Shara closed her eyes and let out a low breath.

The sound of a throat clearing snapped the room back into action, and it was suddenly filled with quite murmurs. Turning to face them, Shara stood tall and strong as she tried to hide the way her hands shook.

"Warden, who will rule Ferelden?" It was Eamon again, doing his best to look like a grave, impartial overseer, but Shara knew better. He was only putting Alistair forward since he had Maric's blood in him, but he'd give the soon-to-be king a good fight when it came to decision making.

After Anora's betrayal, Shara would have happily seen the woman's head follow her father's, but she knew that the queen was far too popular to allow for that. She had a surprise of her own where the blonde woman was concerned, and Shara barely kept the bitter smile from her lips. Anora started forward, as if to accept a position as queen – it was what Shara had agreed to. "Alistair shall be king." The queen glared at her, but Shara said nothing more.

As the chamber erupted in cheers of support for the new king – along with a few low protestations and a rather unlady-like grunt from Anora – Shara turned on her heel and strode out the door. Zevran quickly joined her with a smooth smile that softened the ache inside her. The political mess was over. Her _revenge_ was finished.

By the time they reached her quarters in the Arl's estate, her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't undo the straps on her armor. Her voice caught in her throat when she went to ask Zev, but he understood.

When she was finally left in nothing but leather and cloth, the righteous anger that had held her upright had finally spent itself. She sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face. The emotions inside her roiled over one another – relief and loss and _need_.

Hands stroked her hair and she looked up to find Zevran staring at her with a softness that surprised her. The fear that had kept her from him since Fort Drakon wavered. "Zev, I need you." She'd said the words more times than she could remember, but they felt different in her mouth, heavier. "Please."

He hesitated only a moment before kneeling beside her. They said nothing as they undressed each other and he tempered her urgency with soft, reverent touches. When she finally settled over him, her name escaped his lips and his restraint broke. She reached her fulfillment quickly, collapsing over him with a soft moan. The scent of him filled her head as he drove into her, whispering her name and his need until he was spent.

Shara pressed a kiss in his hair, savoring the warm safety of his embrace. A calm she hadn't felt in months settled into her bones and she closed her eyes. Her revenge was over.

* * *

_AN: Many thanks to decantate for being my beta! (Two fics in one day!)_


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